KENYA
‘GOD’S REIGN’. ‘BE HUMBLE’. ‘FIND THE DIVINE’.
These are just some of the messages emblazoned across the windscreens of the tuk-tuks weaving through the traffic in Diani. The road is fringed with little shops selling household necessities and the smell of salt in the air hints at the ocean beyond. For now, it remains tantalisingly out of sight, but other tuk-tuks, packed with holidaymakers, are a sure sign we’re nearing the coast. I’m tracing Kenya’s Indian Ocean shoreline,
following a single ribbon of tarmac from Diani to Watamu and finally out to the remote Lamu Archipelago. Diani is Kenya’s best-known stretch of Indian Ocean coastline, drawing travellers with its palm-fringed sands, dramatic tides and turquoise waters — whether they’re rounding off a safari in Tsavo or the Maasai Mara, or simply coming for a week by the sea. Yet just a few miles inland, another side of Diani awaits. Hidden within these tropical lowlands are the
kaya forests: sacred groves of pod mahogany, strangler fig and combretum, treasured by the coastal Mijikenda people as places of prayer and reflection. They contain the remains of long- abandoned fortified villages dating back to around the 16th century. Most are closed to visitors, but a community ecotourism project run by members of the local Digo community has opened Kaya Kinondo to travellers willing to experience it respectfully. Before we enter, my guide Mohammed Danda
hands me a midnight-blue sarong to knot around my waist and explains the rules: don’t disturb the flora and fauna, and to keep our voices low. This, he tells me, is a deeply spiritual place. “It’s the home of my ancestors,” he says. “It’s important to preserve their peace.” Barefoot, Mohammed leads me along a leaf-
strewn path, stepping over sinuous roots and jagged coral stones that hint at the former settlement beneath the trees. The canopy all but shuts out the light, and the air is rich with the scent of earth and bark. As we approach, a dissenting baboon bellows from somewhere deep inside the forest. To the Mijikenda people, Mohammed explains,
the forest is as well stocked as a pharmacy: plants here are used to treat everything from coughs to erectile dysfunction. “Like us, every tree has
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a spirit inside, and when one dies, it’s a sign,” he says, pausing beside a fallen giant. “We honour it with a ritual, then leave it to decompose, so that its surroundings may regenerate one day.”
A different kind of sanctuary Continuing north along the coast, I find that this reverence for nature takes a different form. By the time I reach the fishing town of Watamu. Offshore, coral reefs teem with life — and for Guido Paap, master scuba diver trainer at Reefo Divers, they hold an almost spiritual significance of their own. Kenya was the first country in Africa to establish
a Marine Protected Area, and this stretch of coast now encompasses marine national parks at Kisite- Mpunguti, Mombasa, Watamu and Malindi, as well as six additional marine reserves. Years spent diving these waters have given Guido a profound respect for the reefs’ fragility. While climate-driven bleaching has taken its toll
over the years, remedial work is underway. “Here, travellers can be so much more than just a diver,” says Guido. “We’ve created a PADI Coral Reef Restoration Diver course so that visitors can learn how to harvest broken corals and plant fragments onto artificial reefs that act as nurseries. Together, they’ll give this reef a second life.” The same waters that shelter Watamu’s coral
gardens also provide a haven for green, olive ridley and hawksbill turtles. Between April and September, females haul themselves onto the gently sloping beaches to nest, with their hatchlings emerging in the New Year. That evening, I join a night patrol along the shore.
The beach is lit only by a thin wash of moonlight and the volunteers’ red-filtered torches. White light disorients the turtles, I’m told, so we move in near- darkness, our voices lowered to whispers. Somewhere ahead, a female green turtle is
already digging, her flippers throwing up small showers of sand as she works. We keep our distance and wait. “It feels divine, watching her like this,” whispers
Teresiah Njeri, a volunteer for the not-for-profit Local Ocean, who has walked this beach on patrol more nights than she can count. “In the nesting
Clockwise from top: Lamu was an important trading centre for centuries, thanks to its deep, sheltered waters; tuk-tuks are one of the most popular ways to get around; greater flamingos feed in the shallow, nutrient-rich waters of Watamu Marine National Park & Reserve
IMAGES: ALAMY; SHUTTERSTOCK
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